


Red-Spiced and Blue-Iced

by wearingsunlight98



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artsy Wanda Maximoff, Awesome Carol Danvers, Carol and Wanda are College Roommates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Human Vision (Marvel), I Will Go Down With This Ship, Light Angst, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pietro Maximoff Dies, Protective Natasha Romanov, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, but Django and Marya live, this fic isn't as angsty as it sounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 14:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearingsunlight98/pseuds/wearingsunlight98
Summary: In the wake of Pietro's death, Wanda finds herself in a constant battle for control over her grief. Carol (her roommate) misses the sunny artist that once graced their tiny apartment, and Natasha (her cousin) misses the spunky woman who never let anything — or anyone— get her down.But on one fateful night — in a softly-lit hallway just outside the Stark Industries Gala — Wanda meets someone wholly unexpected. It's the beginning of something she hadn't been looking for — but, perhaps, it's just the nudge she needs to get back on her feet.***Alternatively: Wanda is an awkward little flower, Vision is a Vogue model (in her eyes), and the common currency is soft banter and fluff. <3
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my name is wearingsunlight98, and I am very much grieving the end of WandaVision and all of the lovely things therein. Welcome to my therapy fic — I hope you enjoy. <3
> 
> This will be a multi-chapter fic, although I have no idea how long it's gonna be, so just...like...stick around? I guess? It'll be good, I promise. :)
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, and just general displays of love/appreciation are most welcome and much desired!!! Happy reading <3

“I’ll be fine,” Wanda assures, sniffling. “It’s fine, I’m fine now. I just” — she sniffles again — “I was just having a moment. I’m okay now.” She nods, as if to convince herself just as much as Natasha.

The latter sighs and raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. “No offense, but I’m not really comfortable leaving you by yourself right now.”  
Wanda scoffs. “I’m not gonna jump out the window, Nat.”  
“You don’t need to be suicidal to warrant my concern for your wellbeing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t you have a fancy party to go to?” she asks dryly, swiping at the remaining salt water on her cheeks.  
“Stop deflecting,” Natasha retorts, tone firm.

There’s a tense silence before she continues: “When will Carol be home?”  
“She won’t be — she’s out of town.”  
“Mm…right, you’re coming with me.”  
“Wait, _what?_ ”

Nat levels her with another look. “I am not leaving you by yourself after the worst emotional breakdown you’ve had in weeks. So, either I can skip the party — which I _really_ don’t wanna do — or you can come with me.”

Wanda gives her a flat look. “I hate parties.”  
“So sit in a corner and sketch, I don’t care.”  
“Nobody puts Wanda in a corner,” she deadpans.

“Jesus Christ,” Nat mutters, rolling her eyes. “Look, bring a sketchbook, I’ll bring you food and shit from the ballroom, you’ll be fine. Change of scenery will be good for you.”

Wanda licks her teeth as she considers. “Do I have to dress up?”  
“You can wear a paper bag, for all I care,” she answers flippantly. “I just wanna be able to check up on you and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not _five_ , Nat—”  
“Wanda, I swear to god, I will tie you up and throw you in my trunk if that’s what it takes.”  
She blinks, unimpressed. “Fine. I’ll go…but I’m not wearing a bra.”

***

In the end, Nat talks her into a sports bra, which — while not the freedom Wanda had originally haggled for — was still better than what Natasha herself had to wrangle with (an adhesive push-up bra).

And anyway, she still got to wear her paint-spattered jeans and the threadbare black cardigan that she loved so much, so really she has nothing to complain about.

When they get to Stark Tower, Natasha leads her over to a little alcove just off the main hall. Sounds from the party spill out of the ballroom, but Wanda’s not bothered by it. By the time the noise filters down to her end of the hall, it’s less overwhelming than if she were smack-dab in the middle of it.

She’s rather grateful, actually. After all, it’d been the deafening silence in her apartment that had allowed her brain to spiral earlier. But for now — amidst the buzz of elite conversations, faint instrumentals, and the clink and clatter of glasses of alcohol — her grief is muted, unable to filter through.

“You gonna be okay?” Nat asks as Wanda folds herself onto the window seat and starts pulling out her sketchbook.  
She smiles softly and nods. “I’ll be fine.” It’s the millionth time she’s said it tonight, but whatever.

Natasha nods. “Okay. If you need me, have F.R.I.D.A.Y. find me. I’ll be ‘round in a bit with snacks.”  
“Sounds good.”

With that, Nat turns on her heel, leaving Wanda to her own devices (or, in this case, her micron and ballpoint pens). She tunes out the sounds of a party in full swing, and lets her mind begin to wander…

***

“I was told to bring food to ‘the curious girl sketching on the window seat in the hallway.’ That wouldn’t be you, by any chance, would it?”

Wanda’s head snaps up at the sound of a (admittedly delightful) British accent. She's annoyed — she hates being interrupted.  
But that all disappears in seconds, because _sweet Jesus_.

Standing before her is a man.  
And he’s gorgeous.

Coiffed, light blonde hair contrasts with the iciest blue eyes she’s ever seen.  
And his cheekbones, good lord.

He’s also immaculately dressed in a navy blue suit, with the top few buttons of his pristine white dress shirt undone…

Wanda’s not even wearing a real bra.  
Fantastic.

“Do I look curious to you?” she counters, slightly wary but trying to hide how attracted to him she is.  
Thank god she has a killer poker face. 

His head tilts to the side as he studies her. “Intriguing,” he offers instead. “It’s not everyday you see someone in jeans and Converse at a Stark Industries gala,” he continues, nodding at said jeans and well-worn shoes. “Or, well — someone other than Tony himself.”

She huffs a laugh; he’s funny. Quietly so, nothing like Sam’s or Clint’s raucous humor, but still…

He takes a few steps closer and hands her a plate stacked with all sorts of mouthwatering things: pastries, finger sandwiches, high-end cheese, little chocolatey things.  
She gives him a small smile. “Thanks.”  
He smiles back. “My pleasure.”

Wanda picks up a piece of cheese. She has no idea what kind it is, but it smells smokey and wonderful. “I assume Nat sent you?” she asks, before popping it in her mouth.  
  
He gives a short nod. “Yes, she sends her best.”  
“Mm. Does she?”  
There’s an amused sort of a look on his face. “I suppose one never truly knows with her.”

Wanda chuckles as she pops one of the chocolates into her mouth. Caramel oozes out onto her tongue, and she hums. “And you are?”  
“Oh!” the man exclaims. “Right, I’m terribly sorry. Where are my manners?”

She huffs another small laugh, and his eyes light up.  
They’re dazzling.  
“Victor, but everyone calls me Vision.”  
“And which do you prefer?”  
He smiles softly. “The latter.”

She sets her plate down on the window seat and turns to face him head on, extending a hand in introduction. “Wanda Maximoff.”

And then (as if the man couldn’t be any more perfect) he leans over, takes her hand, and — rather than _shaking_ it like anyone else would’ve done — gently kisses the top of it. “A pleasure, Ms. Maximoff.”

He straightens, releasing her hand, and Wanda’s trying to hold onto her last shreds of impassiveness but it’s pretty much useless at this point.  
This man will be the death of her.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your sketching,” he states, nodding at her sketches. “Have a lovely evening.” His mouth quirks in one last smile, eyes sparkling softly, and he turns to leave.

But Wanda is a bit of an awkward human being, and she doesn’t particularly want him to leave just yet (and isn’t that just ironic, considering her annoyance when he first interrupted her reverie not five minutes ago), so she ends up — quite in spite of herself — blurting out a slightly desperate “Wait!”

He does, thank god — stops immediately and turns back around to face her, with that ever-so-gentle smile still in place on his lovely face. “Yes, Ms. Maximoff?”

Oh _god_ , what she wouldn’t give to hear him whisper that in a dark corner somewhere, have him breathe it into her hair as she melted against him.

 _Get it together, Wan,_ she scolds herself. She shakes her head to clear it, blinking rapidly as she tries to think of something to say. “I, um…I was just— wondering if you could bring me some water?”

His eyes are brimming with kindness. “Of course. Anything else?”  
She shakes her head.  
He nods. “Back in a jiff.”

 _In a jiff,_ Wanda repeats in her head. _Who says that?  
_  
Right on the heels of that comes the familiar swirl of doubt that is her constant companion: _Idiot. Could you_ **_be_ ** _more obvious?_ _You’re not some damsel in distress, get your own damn water._

She’s still chastising herself when he comes back, a glass of ice water in hand, eyes shimmering with warmth despite their glacial hue (and how is that even _possible, this man_ ).

“Here you are,” he says gently, as if sensing her slightly edgier state of mind.  
“Thanks,” she murmurs, suddenly shy beneath his attentive gaze. Her fingers graze his ever so slightly as he hands her the glass, and it thrills her.

 _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ she thinks, confused as to why this man — whom she’s never met before — is having such a strong effect on her.

It’s so grossly cliché, the epitome of every sappy, dimestore novel she’s ever spurned over the course of her life, and she hates the idea that she’s become some flimsy maiden in the span of a half hour.

“Ms. Maximoff? Are you alright?”  
She shakes herself again. “Perfectly.”  
Something flashes in his eyes. “I can find Ms. Romanov, if you’d like.”  
“There’s no need,” she assures him, somewhat frantically. “I’m fine.”

The man — _Vision —_ doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push either. “If you’re sure.”  
Wanda tacks on a smile for good measure. “I am. Thank you.”  
He nods. “Well, then — goodnight.”

He takes his leave once more, and Wanda — despite the defiant emotions warring in her brain — finds herself wishing she had a reason to call him back again.

But she doesn’t, so instead of calling out his name (like she _really, really_ wants to) she just watches his retreating form and whispers, “Goodnight.”

***

Over a week later, Wanda still catches herself thinking about him.

The pale blue of his eyes.  
The gentle quirk of his mouth when he smiled.  
His entire demeanor, really — witty and funny without being overbearing.

And if you asked her what she was doing at Stark Tower that afternoon — on a day when the air was biting and clouds were sporadically dropping sheets of water onto passersby below, making going anywhere without a proper vehicle a pretty wretched affair — she’d probably tell you she had a perfectly good reason to be there.

A reason that didn’t involve clutching at the slight chance that _maybe_ Vision worked here, since he’d been at the SI gala and mentioned Tony with such familiarity, it seemed only natural that they were — at the very least — colleagues…

Of course, she’d be lying. She’d be lying like no one had ever lied before, her nose extending from where it began on her face to the tip of the very tower in which she now found herself.

But whatever. People had done dumber things in the name of love— crush— _whatever—_

 _Oh my god, you’re so pathetic,_ she chided, wandering the lobby as she tried to come up with a plan.

Natasha’s motto had always been, “When in doubt, get coffee,” so Wanda took that advice to heart and began making her way to the coffee shop on the third floor.

***

She’s standing at the end of the counter, waiting for her drink, when all of a sudden she hears someone call her name.  
“Ms. Maximoff?”

 _That voice.  
_She’d know it anywhere.

“Mr. Vision,” she greets, spinning to face the source of that lovely, lilting accent. “What a coincidence.”  
  
God, she’s such a liar. But hey — the chances of running into him (in an environment with this many people and absolutely no guarantee that he even worked there in the first place) had been slim to none, so that fact that she’s succeeded in her mission has to count for something…

“Indeed,” he agrees, smiling. “I must say, this is quite unexpected.”  
She smirks. “Yes, well — so am I.”  
“As I’m quickly discovering,” he affirms, eyes dancing playfully.

There’s a lull — kind of awkward, but kind of not — and if it were anyone other than Vision, she’d probably feel anxious. Yet for some inexplicable reason, none of her usual chaos is making an appearance.

After a few seconds, Vision clears his throat. “Do you, ah— do you work here?”  
“Oh! Goodness, no,” Wanda contradicts. “I’m just here to see Bruce.”

God, that lie was so smooth.  
_Way to go, Wan_ , she thought, giving herself a mental pat on the back.

“Ah, Dr. Banner,” Vision replies. “Might I enquire for what purpose?”

Well, shit.  
She hadn’t thought ahead that far.

“Ah— well, um— just some—”  
“Wanda?”

 _Saved by the Ph.D.,_ she thinks, extremely relieved to see the very man in question walking towards them.  
“Hello, Bruce,” she greets pleasantly.  
“Dr. Banner,” Vision nods.

Bruce returns the greeting and adds, “Thanks for those specs, by the way, super helpful.”  
“Oh, of course. Happy to be of service.”

Bruce swivels to look at Wanda, mouth quirking in a smile. “What are you doing here?” he inquires — not unkindly, just curious.  
“I, uh— just, something Nat wanted me to run by you,” she fibs.

The barista calls her name then and she’s relieved once more, grateful that she doesn’t have to make up any more answers.  
Except, of course, she should’ve known better, because Bruce is relentless once something piques his interest.

“What did you wanna run by me?” he asks, the second Wanda returns.  
“Oh, just— you know, that thing we were talking about the other day?”  
His brows furrow in confusion. “What thing?”

 _C’mon, Bruce,_ her eyes plead, begging him to get the hint and play along with the fact that she has absolutely zero valid reason to be here (other than the fact that she’s hopelessly pining for a man she’s known for all of ten collective minutes).

She’s scrambling for some sort of S.O.S. she can give him when she remembers the codeword that she and Nat made up in case one of them needed rescuing from an uncomfortable situation. “You know,” she tries again, “the _electrical issue_ Nat mentioned the other day.”

There’s a slight pause — wherein Vision starts to get an odd look on his face — before Bruce’s eyes finally widen in recognition. “ _OH_ , right! Of course, yes, let me just— get my coffee, then, uh— then we can go chat in my office.”

Vision still has a weird look on his face — as if he’s trying to figure out what he missed — but when Wanda glances at him, he just smiles.

***

Bruce waves her into his office, and the second the door shuts behind him, he’s asking questions.

“I didn’t think I’d _ever_ have cause to ask this, but did Vision do something to you?”  
“No, no!” Wanda rushes to assure him. “No, I just— I didn’t— no, he didn’t do anything.”  
“Well, did he _say_ something?” he presses.  
  
His eyes are wide with concern, and she gives him a small smile. “No.”  
Poor Bruce looks even more confused. “Then why drop the codeword?” he grills, arms flailing a bit.  
“I, um…I don’t— I—”

She huffs, trying to gather her thoughts before she continues. “I met him at the gala, and I— I don’t know, I just— thought maybe— I don’t know, I didn’t really have a plan when I got here, and I didn’t think I’d _actually run into him—_ ”

All of a sudden, Bruce’s eyes spark, and something akin to a smirk begins to tug at his mouth. “Hold on, let me get this straight — you’re crushing on Vision?”

She glares at him. “I didn’t say that.”  
“No, but you did say you came here on the off-chance that _maybe_ you’d see him, so forgive me for jumping to that conclusion.”

She says nothing, just continues to stare daggers at him, which only makes him grin harder. “You’re crushing on Vision. I’ll be damned.”  
Wanda rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

“I can help you, you know,” he offers, sipping at his coffee.  
“No, thanks—”  
“No, seriously — I can help.”  
She glances at him warily. “How?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he crosses over to his desk and does something much worse.  
He picks up the phone.

Realizing what he’s going for, she panics. “Nonono, Bruce—”  
“Hey, Vis, can you come downstairs real quick? Thanks.”  
“Oh, god,” Wanda mutters, head dropping into her hands as he hangs up the phone.

“Look, there’s nothing to worry about. All you gotta do is sit there and look cute.” He smirks. “Maybe laugh a bit, he likes that kind of thing—”  
“ _Bruce, shut up_.”

He grins, and Wanda’s just about to throw the stapler on his desk at him when the door opens, and he’s there.  
All six-foot-whatever of him, clean lines and piercing eyes and _dear god—_

“Need something?” He’s looking at Bruce, but when Wanda goes to scrub a hand over her face, his eyes catch the movement and he sees her. “Ms. Maximoff,” he greets, smiling.  
“Hi,” she mumbles, sinking down onto the leather couch opposite the door.

 _Hi???_ she cringes. _What am I,_ _twelve?_

“Yeah, can we go over the schematics that R&D just sent up?” Banner queries, drawing the man’s attention from the horrifically embarrassed college student. “If you have a moment, I don’t wanna keep you if you’re busy—”  
“No, no, that’s fine. Saves me from having to wrangle the interns.”  
  
The two chuckle, sharing in some private context that Wanda is happy to ignore, before moving over to Bruce’s workspace.  
On their way past her, Bruce catches her eye and winks.

 _Lord help me,_ she thinks to herself.

***  
  
**Bruce:**

> Omg you’re never gonna believe this

**Natasha:**

> What?

**Bruce:**

> Wanda’s crushing on Vis

**Natasha:**

> Of course she is.

**Bruce:**

> What do you mean

**Natasha:**

> Who do you think sent Vision to find her in the first place?

**Bruce:**

> HOLY SHIT YOU PLANNED THIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's Chapter 1! I hope you guys liked it, please do stay tuned for Chapter 2 if you feel so inclined... I'm very excited about this fic and I hope you lovelies are, too. <3
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and, as always, stay safe and healthy out there! Back soon! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this is so fun — like really, someone stop me, I have homework I need to do...
> 
> In the meantime, have some texting shenanigans, a heart-to-heart with Carol, and a little surprise at the end. ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**> > Bruce renamed the conversation #WandaVision4Ever<3**

**Natasha:**

> Is this really necessary?

**Bruce:**

> Absolutely
> 
> If you don’t like it, then don’t meddle next time

**Natasha:**

> [middle finger emoji]

**Bruce:**

> What’s Carol’s number?

**Natasha:**

> [shared a contact]

**> > Bruce added Carol to the conversation**

**Carol:**

> Um
> 
> Who the fuck is Vision???

***

Wanda is sitting on her couch reading a book when Carol bursts through the front door. She makes a beeline for Wanda, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the coffee table. There’s a stormy expression on her face, and her hands are planted firmly on her hips.  
  
“Who’s _Vision_?”  
Wanda blinks in confusion, feeling a bit blindsided. _  
_“Well?” Carol presses, impatient.  
“No one,” she replies hesitantly. “We met at the gala, that’s all.”

Carol hums sarcastically. “If he’s ‘no one’” — she finger quotes — “then why did Bruce add me to a group chat with Natasha called WandaVision4Ever?”

 _Goddammit, Bruce_ , she thinks to herself, rubbing wearily at her forehead. The man was one of the most insufferable romantics on the face of the Earth.

Sighing, she resigns herself to her fate. “We met at the gala,” she repeats. “He brought me food.”  
“And?”  
She purses her lips. “And we chatted for a few minutes, and he was very sweet—”

“WANDA MAXIMOFF!!!” Carol erupts. Her tone is sharp and incredulous, but the wide grin on her face totally debunks any idea that she’s actually mad. “Why didn’t you _tell me_?!?!”

A shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I was embarrassed.”  
“Embarrassed for _liking_ someone???”  
“Well, it just felt kind of silly, you know? We talked for like, _five minutes—_ ”  
“Yeah, ‘cause it’s totally unacceptable to have a crush on someone you’ve just met,” Carol snarks.

Wanda glares. “Why. Why do you do this to me?”  
Her roommate grins like a shark. “‘Cause it’s _fun_.”  
“I am not having fun,” Wanda grumbles, massaging her eyelids.

Carol drops onto the coffee table and leans forward, bracing her arms on her knees. “So…I Googled him—”  
Wanda groans.  
“—very impressive, I must say. Artificial intelligence? Enhanced robotics? I mean, wow.”

Wanda buries her face in one of the throw pillows.  
“Although…” Carol trails off, resulting in a silence so thick, Wanda raises her head in spite of herself.  
“What?”  
A smirk. “He’s a bit older than you.”

Oh.  
Well.

Wanda mulls that over for a moment; it hadn’t even _occurred_ to her to wonder about that. “Um…how muchis ‘a bit’?”  
The shark grin is back. “He’s thirty-four.”   
“HOLY SHIT—”  
“Bro, calm down.”

Wanda stares at her roommate, eyes wild and mind swirling. “Carol, that’s _thirteen years—_ ”  
“Oh my god, who cares?” she dismisses, waving her hand.  
“I can barely _drink—_ ”  
“You’ve been drinking for years.”  
“Not _legally—_ ”

“The fuck does that have to do with it?” the blonde queries, throwing out her arms in emphasis. “Wanda, he’s a _total_ catch—”  
Wanda ignores the thrum of _yesheisohmygod_ running through her body and instead pulls a face. “How would _you_ know?”

Carol pulls out her phone and waves it around. “Group chat, remember? I’ve been fully briefed.” She grins. “Nat even sent pictures.”  
“Oh my god, gimme that—”

She lunges for the phone and punches in the password, completely abandoning her I Don’t Give a Fuck charade (it’s not like it was working, anyway). The phone unlocks, still open to the ~~blessed~~ cursed group chat, and she thumbs over to the photo section.

“Oh my god.” Wanda bites her lip as she scrolls through screenshots of Instagram posts, article mentions, and photos from Natasha’s personal collection.

Carol hops onto the cushion next to her. “I know, right?” She reaches over and takes the phone back. “One sec…you’ll like this one.”  
She scrolls, taps, turns the phone around, and—  
“ _Sweet. Jesus._ ”

He’s clad in a medium-gray plaid suit, a pale blue dress shirt, and a navy tie with tiny white polka-dots. Topping off the whole look is a pair of oversized, gold-framed glasses.

It’s all so completely unfair — he’s so hot, and he’s not even looking at the camera. His chin is tipped down, eyes locked on the floor or some shit…  
  
But Wanda knows the exact shade of his eyes, and the idea of encountering him in _this_ outfit, with _those_ eyes piercing through her, is lethal.

“Okay but wait — this one’s my fave.” Carol scrolls some more before handing over the phone again.  
  
She can see his eyes in this one.  
She’s pretty sure her brain breaks.

“Fuck me.”  
Carol grins. “Total daddy vibe, am I right?”  
Wanda tips her head back and groans. “I can’t do this.”  
“Au contraire, ma chérie,” her roommate replies cheerily.

“Carol,” Wanda laments, “he’s like, so— I mean _look_ at him, and I’m—”  
“A super cute and irresistible college student?” Carol intones, straight-faced.  
“I’m _serious—_ ”  
“So am I!”

Wanda huffs in frustration. She feels so stupid — the hell would a man like _that_ want with a girl like _her_?  
“I just…I’m a mess,” she finally mumbles.

Carol’s mouth quirks in a smile; it’s soft and compassionate and so very _Carol_. “Aren’t we all, though?” She leans into Wanda and settles her head in the crook of her neck. “ _Go for it_ ,” she whispers. “And see what happens.”

***

The next time she sees him is completely by accident, and _way_ more embarrassing than the first two encounters.

She’s walking across campus on her way to the art building, lost in thought, when she’s startled by the sound of a familiar British accent somewhere off to her left. She halts abruptly and whips around, scanning the greenspace before her.

 _It’s not him, why would it be—  
_ It’s him.  
It’s definitely him.

He’s standing outside the Robotics building, talking with a few other Important Looking People. He’s wearing slate gray slacks with a (very soft-looking) cream-colored sweater, the sleeves of which have been rolled up to his elbows.

Wanda’s pretty sure she’s about to combust.  
 _Keep walking — you have things to do. It’s not like he’d wanna talk to you anyway._

Taking a deep breath, she glances up for one last (longing) look…  
And then it’s too late to move on, because he _sees her.  
_  
He smiles, excuses himself from his conversation, and begins making his way towards her.  
 _Why is he coming over, oh my god—  
_ “Afternoon, Ms. Maximoff.”

 _Get your shit together,_ she scolds herself.

He stops an arm’s length away from her, and she smiles. “Good afternoon, Mr. Vision—”  
“There’s no need for formalities,” he cuts in gently. “Just Vision will do.”

She grins. “Very well, Just Vision—”  
“Ha, yes, very clever,” he remarks sarcastically. But there’s a teasing glimmer in his eyes, a tug at the corner of his mouth.   
  
Wanda smirks. “You’re not a student here, are you?” she inquires jokingly.  
He chuckles, brows quirking up. “No, no, I am not. One of the Robotics professors invited me to hold a guest lecture this afternoon.”  
“Oh! That’s cool.”

There’s a pause, wherein Wanda attempts not to swoon at the idea of Vision holding court in front of a bunch of college students, all casual authority and easy grace.  
  
This is, she discovers, much easier said than done.

Eventually, Vision clears his throat. “Have you eaten, by any chance?”  
 _Oh god._ “No, not yet.”  
His eyes brighten. “Would you care to accompany me? There’s a café just down the street, I believe.”

Wanda blinks like a deer in headlights. “You want to have lunch with me?”  
Something flickers across his face. “If you’d like, yes.” His brows furrow in concern. “Unless I’ve overstepped—”

“No!” she blurts out, immediately embarrassed by how desperate it sounds. “Sorry, no. I was just surprised, is all.”  
There’s that oddly amused look again. “Why were you surprised?” he inquires softly.

She’s not quite sure how to answer that. “I’m a student, here,” is what she comes up with.  
He chuckles. “Yes, I can see that,” he answers, nodding at the backpack slung over her shoulder.

 _Fuck, how do I say this…_ “It’s just— you’re, like, a functional adult—”  
For whatever reason, that makes him laugh — a rich, hearty sound that seeps into her bones and shivers through her whole body.

_Help me._

“Oh goodness,” he gasps, “I’m not sure I’d say _functional_ —”  
“Well, I meant— you know…”  
He blinks curiously. “What?”

Wanda sighs. “I just meant that— you’re you, and I’m— me.”  
Vision tilts his head. “And what’s not to like about _you_?”  
Silence.  
He sobers, eyes softening. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Dear god — if only he knew how _not_ uncomfortable he made her...

She shakes her head with a small smile. “Not at all.”  
Vision beams. “So lunch, then?” he asks again, eyebrows flicking up hopefully.  
Something in Wanda’s chest flutters; it’s giddy, and terrified, but she nods her head anyway and grins. “Yes. Lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's Chapter 2! Check out the links below if you wanna swoon over Vision (aka Paul Bettany irl) — the first is of him in the plaid suit and the second is the one that gives Wanda an aneurysm ;)
> 
>   * [The One With the Plaid Suit](https://cache.mrporter.com/content/images/cms/ycm/resource/blob/531516/1c54e8a8ba5cac1b4efabbbc3f0b24d8/5f6767ad-25cb-4eb9-9e3e-84e6c7c783a5-data.jpg/w1000_q80.jpg)
>   * [The One With His Eyes](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/newpix/2018/04/20/08/4B4E521700000578-0-image-m-3_1524209916020.jpg)
> 

> 
> I definitely won't be able to post as often as I'd like in the future — girl's got homework and shit to do. BUT I will post as often as I can, so I hope you stick around!
> 
> Much love, and thanks for reading!! Hope y'all are staying safe <3


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